<< Go Back

Empire of Gold: Foundations

By Jo Amdahl

Order Now!

Chapter 1:
Chapter 1: The Child Prophet
628 BC
“Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I set you apart; I appointed you as a prophet to the nations.” “Alas Sovereign LORD,” I said, “I do not know how to speak; I am too young.”
—Jer. 1:5, 6
Jerusalem
The sunshine shimmered through the dust kicked up by countless feet in the crowded, narrow marketplace, one of many impromptu shopping areas of Jerusalem, the holy city. But it didn’t look all that holy to the twelve-year-old boy1 standing in the afternoon heat. Jeremiah ben Hilkiah stamped his sandaled feet and brushed off his rough-woven, tan cotton tunic. He had gotten a bit smudged on his trek into Jerusalem, and grime was unacceptable in a representative of the Sovereign Lord. He needed to look presentable. He shook his shaggy brown hair back from his face and quickly combed it in place with his long fingers. Not that anyone noticed the boy—shoppers, both men and women, in long multicolored robes wove their way around the small figure. Focused on their own private errands, they were unaware of the true power veiled in this one insignificant form. They missed the intense assurance of authority in the boy’s almost black eyes and were misled into ignoring him because of his height and slight build.
It was time. Jeremiah frowned and stared in disgust at the rickety stall directly in front of him. He had been irresistibly drawn to this spot. The shelter was a ramshackle collection of sticks topped with a dusty straw roof. But the fact that there was a stall at all spoke of the merchant’s success. Most sellers made do with a blanket spread on the ground. This merchant’s stall contained a flimsy table, on which was displayed an amazingly diverse selection of carved miniature figurines: the Canaanite storm god Baal, with his high conical hat; the many-breasted Ishtar of Mesopotamia; the fish-tailed Dagon of Tyre; the cat-headed Bast of Egypt; and many more. Idols were the disgrace of the nation. The boy couldn’t understand how the people thought the Lord could bless them when they betrayed him so blatantly.2
The shopkeeper, infamous in his shameless flaunting of Israel’s sin, was fat and well dressed. His over-tunic was splendidly striped in bright colors. On his head, he wore a red-and-blue turban, not a shawl. His gray-speckled beard was neatly trimmed. Proud and self-important, he sat on a tiny stool next to a small cooking fire near the shack’s open front. The boy smelled mutton bubbling in a metal pot that hung over the fire. The merchant noticed Jeremiah’s attention and beamed at what he saw as a potential customer. Heaving himself to his feet, he stepped behind his table.
Enough of delays. It was time. Jeremiah could not ignore the unspoken demand of the divine, nor would he. A nagging remonstration in the back of his mind told him he was about to be in big trouble again, that he would, once again, bring shame upon his father’s house. He ignored it. His responsibility was to his Lord. He had been called before he was born. For Jeremiah, there had never been anything else, and there never would be.
Squaring his shoulders, the boy walked determinedly over to the table and picked up an ornately painted monstrosity barely longer than his forearm—a small wooden carving of Molech, destroyer of babes, complete with red-painted flaming belly. Holding the squat, fat figure over his head, Jeremiah spun around and faced the people of the marketplace. He sucked in a breath and let it out in a shout, the force of it shocking the crowd into a frozen silence.
“What other nation ever changed its gods?” the boy sang out to them, his clear young voice easily carrying over the noise of the crowd.3 “Even though the gods of the nations are”—he broke off a blue-and-gold wooden arm with a crack—“not”—snap, off came the other arm—“gods”—one leg came off—“at”—the other leg—“all!” Jeremiah finished by breaking off the small wooden head.
The crowd gasped at the boy’s temerity and began to murmur their incredulity to one another. The young prophet waved the desecrated trunk with its fiery belly into the air above his head for the people to see it as it was—useless. “But my people have exchanged their glory for worthless idols. Oh heavens, be shocked, and shiver with horror at this thing!”
The people were shocked, true enough, but more at the boy’s audacity than at what he held. Indignant, they looked to one another and back to the lad again, wondering. The murmuring grew in volume. “Who does he think he is?” “How can he do that?” “Is he going to pay for that?” “Where are his parents?”
“Akh!” The merchant recovered first. He made a grab for the boy and the pilfered statue, but Jeremiah was ready for him, and he slipped under the irate fat man’s grasp and darted behind a startled shopper. The merchant’s flowing robes upended the table in his rush to apprehend the little delinquent. Several others of the merchant’s idols tumbled into the cooking fire and burst into flame. Jeremiah grinned despite the serious tone of his message. He cocked his head and reflected on what seemed a well-deserved fate for a god of fire, so he tossed the Molech and its pieces into the flames after its fellows.
“Wha-at?” the merchant sputtered, pushing his way around the upended table. “Just wait ’til I catch you, you little—”
“I have him,” came a voice, and a hard hand clamped down over the boy’s shoulder. Jeremiah squirmed but to no avail. He looked up to see the leather-armored figure of Neriah ben Mahseiah, an all-too-familiar member of the palace guard. Neriah sighed. “Come along, Jeremiah. I’ll have someone notify your father … again.”

*****

King Josiah, the anointed of God, the good king, the son of Amon, was of the house of David of the tribe of Judah, the lion. The king sat in judgment on Solomon’s throne. The carved ivory throne, depicting Abraham and the twelve patriarchs, was completely covered in gold. It had a high back and arm rests, with a plush purple cushion and a golden footstool with a matching purple cushion. It was easily the most comfortable chair Josiah owned, and he sat under the pillared and canopied dais of his ancestors. Six deep steps of white marble, each supporting a pair of realistic miniature golden lions, rose to the dais. On either side of the throne sat a golden life-sized seated lion, its expression serene and aloof. Behind the throne, carved into the cedar paneling, twelve life-sized lions cavorted, fought, and roared. High up, just below the carved ceiling, a row of windows provided illumination. As in the rest of the palace, the emphasis was on the wood and stone work, not precious materials. The cedar pillars were trimmed in gold, but it was trim only, giving an impression of understated majesty and the solidity and permanence of the house of David. Fresh cedar shavings in ivory bowls hung from the walls and filled the chamber with the scent of cedar, though the walls and pillars were centuries old and had long since ceased to have an aroma.4
The king’s unruly petitioners, quarreling on the first step, failed to be properly impressed. This was a family squabble that definitely did not need to be brought before him. Impatiently, the king denied the claim and dismissed the case. He closed his eyes to clear his head before turning to the clerk at his left hand for the details of the next case on the docket. His mind was elsewhere. Just before he called his court in session, he had met with a pair of spies who had been doing surveillance on Assyrian troop movements. A segment of the Assyrian army was all too close to Judah’s borders, and the men reported that they had now turned to the south. Were they heading for Philistia, Damascus, or Judah?
At twenty years old, Josiah had the stocky build, red hair, and ruddy complexion often associated with the house of David, and he tried to wear David’s crown well. He wished that he too was a man after God’s own heart, but he had his doubts. Josiah had been king for twelve years—since he was eight years old. At age sixteen, he had sworn to uphold the Lord’s precepts as he understood them, and his then regent, Shaphan, had stepped down as Josiah assumed his duties as sovereign king. That was four years ago. Now, he doubted his abilities to lead and protect his people—the Lord’s people. Assyria’s constant threat was real. How long before Judah went the way of Israel—trampled underfoot and extinct? The pressure was too much for any man. Lately, the king had been subject to headaches, and now he was getting another one. He squinted to clear his vision and relieve the pressure in his temples. It didn’t really help.
He looked up suddenly to a disturbance at the entrance to the chambers, beyond the masses that were waiting on the king’s pleasure. Neriah of the palace guard had entered, tightly clutching a young miscreant by the shoulder.
The crowded audience shifted uncomfortably. They too had business that needed attending to, and they wished matters to move forward. An interruption of this sort spoke of a significant delay. Sure enough, the guard shouldered his way to the front of the queue, displacing the entire line of petitioners.
Josiah knit his brow and pushed back the royal circlet on his head as he reflected on the small figure that the guard had dumped unceremoniously before him.
“Jeremiah of Anathoth, son of Hilkiah ben Shallum, the priest who serves the ark of the covenant,” the guardsman announced. “The offense is disturbance in a marketplace and destruction of this merchant’s property.” He nodded at the shopkeeper who had managed to follow the guard and make his way, huffing and furious, before the throne. Jeremiah had not needed the introduction; the king already knew the lad all too well. He actually knew him better than he knew the boy’s famous father, Hilkiah ben Shallum. Josiah knew the merchant too—an idol peddler. He rolled his eyes heavenward. Why did the Lord’s prophets have to be so irritating?
“What are the specifics of the case?”
Neriah explained, as Jeremiah stood straight and unrepentant at his side. The boy seemed completely uncowed by the king’s presence or his scowl. The merchant wanted to interrupt, but Josiah silenced him with a glance.
It was Jeremiah’s fifth incident, all of them this year. It seemed impossible that such an insignificant-looking child could be such a headache, even without the help of the Assyrians. But then, it wasn’t Jeremiah’s fault—not any more than this morning’s messengers from General Kareah ben Nathan had been responsible for the direction the Assyrian army was taking. Jeremiah was simply a messenger. Josiah recognized the truth behind the youth’s scathing indictments. Josiah, unlike his people, believed the youth was indeed sent by the Almighty.
“Boy, do you understand the consequences of your words and actions?” he asked. “Do you seek to incite Nineveh against us?”
“The Lord insists on purity,” Jeremiah answered. “The people pollute themselves.” He looked at the merchant. “And this man is encouraging them. Do you fear God, lord king? I think you do.”
“Young man,” Josiah said, frowning, “the people worship foreign gods to declare their allegiance. Assyria is watching us and Egypt is watching them. And we are right in between.”
Jeremiah was defiant, not at all afraid of his king. “You fear Assyria.”
“Of course I fear Assyria! Everyone fears Assyria!”
Jeremiah didn’t, but then he was a child, too young to know that Judah, though independent, was a vassal state and owed Nineveh allegiance. He was too young to have learned what Assyrians did to traitors. He had probably never heard of the old and young being skewered alive on poles and left hanging before their cities, of the warriors being skinned alive and those skins being used to make leather seats to be sold in markets. No one had told him of the carefully stacked pyramids of heads …
Josiah carefully took hold of himself. He was king and was not given to outbursts. How could he let a child bait him so—even a self-proclaimed prophet? “Boy,” he said more calmly, “these are matters you do not understand. When you are grown—”
“I understand there is only one God,” Jeremiah interrupted. “He is Lord of all the earth, even the Assyria you fear. So, do you fear Him?”
Josiah was not used to being challenged by anyone, let alone a twelve-year-old insurgent. Yet the challenge he felt came from the air, from all around, from inside, from above. He cleared his head of such nonsense, and the strange feeling in the pit of his stomach vanished. Of course he feared God, but he lived under Assyria. And this child seemed determined to cause trouble that could escalate to who knew what. This wasn’t the first time Jeremiah had appeared before the throne.
The last time Josiah had seen the boy was a little over a week ago. The young insurrectionist had stood before the king, scratched and bruised and bleeding from a cut lip. He had been brought in for starting a riot when he accosted some citizens at the well in the palace court. He had informed the people in no uncertain terms that the Lord was the “spring of living water.” But Jeremiah said they preferred the cisterns that they had dug themselves, even though they were broken and couldn’t hold water. Rather than drink from the spring, the people had turned to the Nile, the river of Egypt and the Euphrates, the river of Assyria.5
The boy had told only the truth, and Josiah knew it. Judah was corrupt and full of idolatry. She was sold into slavery to Assyria, just as she had been to Egypt, where she had worshipped the golden calf, Apis. Now, she honored Marduk and Ishtar, Ashur and Tummuz. Their idols stood in the court of the temple itself and had from the time of Josiah’s grandfather. The presence of the idols was an abomination and humiliation. It grated on the young king and made him sympathetic to the boy, even when the boy looked him right in the eye and asked the same question: “Do you fear Him?” Josiah did. Israel belonged to the Lord! But did Josiah trust Him? If only he could depend on the Lord to act in his people’s defense, because Josiah also feared Assyria.
The son of Amon considered the adolescent prophet before him. Jeremiah’s face was set in anger and outrage, his bottom lip thrust out defiantly. Despite the throbbing in his head, Josiah managed a smile. The boy was right, but Judah was very tiny and the powers that surrounded her were ruthless. Josiah did not need to answer the boy—he was not on trial. But he liked Jeremiah, so he answered him. “I am king, and I will protect my people.”
The boy’s face hardened, and he stared right into the eyes of the king. Josiah suddenly realized that he had avoided the boy’s question. Did he fear the Lord?
A tall, thin man dressed in a rough wool tunic arrived and pushed his way toward the front of the crowd. He was Hilkiah, the priest. Gratefully, the son of Amon turned his attention to Jeremiah’s father, the priest of the ark. It couldn’t be easy, being the father of a prophet—not this prophet, anyway. He had the king’s sympathy.
Hilkiah was highest of the priests of Anathoth, a little town about three miles northeast of Jerusalem, and that particular familial background explained a great deal of the youth’s behavior.
The priests of Anathoth traced their ancestry from Eli’s brother at Shiloh. Through Ahimelech at Nob, they had been responsible for the tabernacle and at times, as now, for the ark of the covenant, itself.6 They boasted descent from Abiathar, chief priest under David. This made them the eldest surviving line of Aaron, the first priest, the brother of Moses. Hilkiah was their elder, and Jeremiah was his eldest son. If not for Solomon, Hilkiah would be chief priest, and Jeremiah would be well occupied in training for the post himself—priest, not prophet.
Unfortunately for Josiah, King Solomon had deposed Chief Priest Abiathar in favor of Abiathar’s uncle, Zadok. To this day, the priests of Anathoth remained dubious as to the legitimacy of the current chief priest. Their line was eldest, and centuries ago, when Pharaoh Shishak had invaded, the priests of Anathoth had taken the ark from the temple and hidden it in their shrine. There it remained. The children of Abiathar had never been priests of the temple. They recognized that no house could contain the Lord God of Israel. Their ancestors had served the ark very well from a tent and now from their shrine at Anathoth. The temple was Solomon’s, and they still refused to acknowledge his authority in deposing them and building it.7
That in itself was tolerable … maybe. The Levites kept shrines all over Judah and Israel; one more wasn’t that much of an inconvenience—except that Jeremiah couldn’t seem to stay home and learn to tend the ark and its shrine. Sadly, Jerusalem was within easy walking distance of Anathoth.
Hilkiah finally managed to arrive at his son’s side, but he said nothing. He inclined his head slightly to the king and waited patiently. It wasn’t his first time in Josiah’s court. More to the point, he was an adult and responsible for his son.
Josiah decided to address him rather than his son. “Hilkiah, your son is charged with creating a disturbance in the marketplace. Are you aware of the facts surrounding this incident?”
“I am, Your Majesty.”
“Have you anything to say?”
“I am responsible for my son, Your Majesty.”
Josiah decided not to spend any more time on this case. He ordered, “Well then, take your son home, Hilkiah. Try to keep him out of trouble or at least off my streets.”
“I will talk to him, lord king,” the priest promised.
The guard stood aside as Hilkiah firmly turned the boy toward the exit. The priest wore an expression that was a mixture of exasperation and pride. King Josiah stifled a smile at the father’s look. He wished he could have expressed approval of the youngster himself, but the boy’s actions were incredibly dangerous, and he could not approve. If Judah were to actually respond and throw out their idols, including Assyria’s gods …
So the king waved for Hilkiah the priest to be gone; and he simply let the boy go … again.
“But … but …” the offended merchant sputtered in protest.
Jeremiah turned, head held high, and walked beside his father as the two pushed their way through the court.
“But Your Majesty! You’re just going to let him off? Do you know how much that little—how much he cost me? What about the damage to my store?”
“Your wares have no place in Judah, and you know it,” Josiah snapped. “If I were you, I’d draw as little attention to myself as possible. Be gone! Just looking at you turns my stomach.”
The merchant, still huffing and red-faced, looked as if he might explode. But glancing at the surrounding palace guards, he thought the better of it, bowed stiffly, and left with as much indignity as he dared muster.
Josiah wrinkled up his face and passed his hand over his eyes. He felt the headache growing worse, and the day was still young. He turned to the recorder, Ahikam, who was acting as court clerk. “Next,” he ordered.
The clerk motioned the next case forward, and the crowd shifted, pressing in and jostling for position.

*****
As the weeks passed, news came of the partial abdication of the Assyrian king, Ashurbanipal. Ashurbanipal had retired to his brother’s care in Harran and the king’s young son, Ashuretilani, was named co-ruler. Ashuretilani was the son of the king’s current favorite, but as he was barely ten years old, he was not leading any armies. The Assyrian army pulled back from the northern territories, and everyone breathed easier.
Another thing happened that relieved Josiah’s problems even more. Although Jeremiah had not learned his lesson it seemed—to the king’s relief—that the boy had gained in wisdom. He continued to walk to the city and upbraid the citizens, but since he now chose the temple courtyard—for the most part—containing his words for the sodh, there was little anyone could do. That was what the sodh was for—a gathering of friends or strangers to discuss religious matters.8
And this day, as usual, he was there again.
Josiah watched from his chair below the cedar pillars on the palace porch as the boy crossed the palace courtyard and entered the temple court from the south.
Jeremiah walked across the temple court to join his favorite sodh, but every time he came here, his soul was filled with outrage. Solomon’s temple towered behind him, but the walls were soiled and crumbling. The twin bronze pillars on the temple’s portico, Jachin and Boaz, were meant to establish the strength of faith in the true God. But four pillars stood there now, not two. The two extras had been installed to the glory of the gods of Amon and Moab. The bronze altar of the Lord still burned with its eternal flame, but it stood beside two others, dedicated to the gods of Canaan and Philistia. Just inside the temple doors stood the hideous ten-foot–tall figure of Baal, painted black as obsidian. The stable of the Horses of the Sun was installed in the Wood House, behind the temple. The Wood House also contained a pantheon of other Assyrian gods. Priests dressed in rich, brightly colored robes and decked out in gold and silver moved importantly throughout the people in the temple court, but they were priests to pagan gods. The sons of Aaron and the Levites dressed more simply in linen dyed in muted colors. They were powerless to interfere with their competitors.
Jeremiah regarded his surroundings and struggled to contain the fury inside him. Much of the temple lay unused and in disrepair. The priests and people alike forgot its laws and rituals. This was the house of the Lord, yet it remained largely empty, having been sacked and looted three hundred years before by the Egyptians and then rebuilt twice by Joash and Hezekiah but never fully restored. The kings Manasseh and Amon, Josiah’s grandfather and father, had worked hard to install the latest heathen gods. The courtyard was largely given over to idols.
Jeremiah preferred his father’s shrine. Anathoth was the home of the ark of the covenant. Worship at the shrine remained pure and unsullied by idolatry, but the Jerusalem temple was where the people were found, and he was called here. So he sat in the sodh and debated with them, and the people listened to him. He was young, but after all, he was the son of the priest of the ark. The priest of the sodh, a young man named Buzi, appeared from behind the temple portico and took his place to speak and teach.
Through the broken gateway, from the palace porch, King Josiah watched and was satisfied. Let the boy grow, and then, one day perhaps, he when he was grown, if he still persisted in these ways … one day, Josiah might listen.

*****
Day after day, Jeremiah ben Hilkiah came early to the temple court and attended the sodh, seated directly in front of the giant brazen sea. The boy’s insight and understanding of spiritual matters impressed the people more and more, and the priest, Buzi, was proud of him. The day he turned thirteen and came of age, Jeremiah broke away from the circle of Buzi’s sodh. He sat down as a teacher himself; many got up, left their circles, and sat down in his.
Three months after Jeremiah had last appeared in Josiah’s court, around the time that Jeremiah turned thirteen and formed his own sodh, another significant event occurred. Josiah sat once again on his august throne in the grandeur of Solomon’s court. The worked gold circlet that was his crown sat on his head, and his royal robes draped around him. He took some comfort in his the royal attire. It set his mood and established his office. His personal secretary and prime minister, the former regent of Judah, Shaphan, stood on his right hand. Shaphan’s son, Ahikam, served as Josiah’s clerk of court and recorder. He sat on the top step to the king’s left, his writing kit ready. Shaphan’s robes were almost as rich as the king’s, but Ahikam served as a clerk and wore a nondescript brown tunic.
Around the throne, the people pushed and jostled each other before him, and the quiet murmur of their comments filled the air. They were always slightly unruly, upset by whatever circumstances had brought them here to have the matter settled.
The case currently before the king was a family dispute and in no way important enough to have found its way before the monarch, yet here they were—a man, his wife, in-laws, and cousins—all glaring at each other over an incident regarding the man’s last crop of figs.
“There is no way to assign blame in this matter,” the king reasoned with the ill-tempered farmer. “However, your cousins were in possession of the crop at the time. I find that they are responsible for half the value of the damages, less their wages. Dismissed!” he snapped before they could again begin their squabbling. Ahikam, son of Shaphan, clerk of court, recorded the verdict.
A movement beyond the scribe, to the left at the entrance to the court’s wardrobe, caught the king’s attention. Huldah, wife of his wardrobe keeper, stood there. Josiah looked at her in surprise. She was dressed in a loose-weave light green robe; a dark green shawl was thrown over her shoulders, leaving her long hair uncovered. It was a sign of severe distress or mourning.
Something was wrong.
Huldah looked distressed. She was an older, average-height woman with medium brown hair going to gray and light brown eyes that normally went right through whomever she addressed. They were the same eyes that Josiah saw in the young prophet, Jeremiah. Huldah was a prophet, too—Josiah’s personal prophet. He consulted her on affairs of state almost as often as he consulted his mentor, Shaphan. But Huldah lived in the lower city, and though she often saw him in his quarters where her husband worked, never before had she intruded on his court. And never before had he seen those sharp, intelligent eyes look so troubled.
The disgruntled plaintiff and his equally disgruntled family advanced to Ahikam to receive their documents and then pushed their way back out of the room to the exit at the rear. The clerk opened his mouth to announce the next case, but Josiah stopped him with a shake of his head.
The king stood. “I must dismiss court for the day. Those who still wish to present their cases today may do so with my secretary, Shaphan, in his offices to my right. Those who would rather appear before me may see my clerk, Ahikam, and reschedule.”
Shaphan had been Josiah’s regent for eight years—until Josiah had turned sixteen—and was quite skilled at mediating and rendering judgments. In his early fifties, he stood straight and tall and in his dark blue and red court robes was every bit as imposing as the king. His graying hair gave him an undeniable air of wisdom. Most of the court would undoubtedly opt to see him. Shaphan raised his eyebrows at his former ward, but he too had seen Huldah. He bowed formally to the king and turned to leave the court for his own chambers. The people jostled to fall in behind him or to talk with Shaphan’s son, Ahikam.
Josiah, filled with trepidation, moved toward the prophetess. She inclined her head to the king and disappeared back into his chambers. Josiah followed through the court wardrobe, filled with rich robes that Josiah used on formal occasions. Huldah’s husband, his wardrobe keeper, was there, and he eyed them curiously but merely returned to his duties, carefully folding sheaths and undergarments.
The king and the prophetess moved on into a large office that Josiah used for private audiences. “What is it, daughter?” he asked formally as he seated himself. She was old enough to be his mother, but he was king, and she was his subject, At the same time, however, she was dear to his heart.
“Great king, I have come to ask an audience for another,” she said, looking at him with confident deference, visible in her tensed brow.
“You are here for another? All he needs to do is see my clerk and have his name added to the docket—”
“And wait a month to be seen, like a common petitioner? Lord king, you must see him today and in front of all the people, on the palace steps.”
Josiah suddenly understood. “Ah. He is a prophet.”
“Yes, lord.”
“Why do you represent him?”
“Lord, prophets oftimes have difficulty in delivering their messages. He is sent; he must be heard.”
“What is he to you?”
“Not to me, lord king, to you. Zephaniah ben Cushi is a distant relative of yours. He, too, is descended from Hezekiah. He has come far to deliver his message.”
“Yes, I am aware of the family. But Zephaniah is, like me, of the house of David. And he lives in the countryside, not Jerusalem. So even if he were a Levite, he could not be a member of the House of Prophets. Nevertheless, you say he now claims to be a prophet?” Josiah eyed her curiously. Prophets abounded among the Jews, but most were priests and kept to the House of Prophets, their “prophecies” relating almost entirely to the everyday life of individuals. In truth, they revealed very little that common sense couldn’t tell better. Huldah was obviously referring to a “prophet” in the classical sense—a wild prophet, not one of the trained, tame ones from the House of Prophets. Undoubtedly, this was a prophet come with a message of doom for the nation.
She hesitated and then said carefully, “My lord sees why Zephaniah needs an introduction. And I am not a Levite or the daughter of a priest, nor am I a member of the House of Prophets. Moreover, I am a woman, just the poor wife of a wardrobe keeper. Yet here I stand, the prophetess to the king.”
“Yes. And you’re vouching for him.”
“Yes. So you will see him.” It was a statement. A command. To refuse would be to gainsay the Lord of heaven.
Josiah wished to avoid the whole scene, but he was trapped. He had sworn, on taking the throne, to be obedient to the Lord. He gritted his teeth and said, “He doesn’t bear good news, I take it.”
She dropped her eyes for an instant in distress. No, not good news. And if it had been anyone other than Huldah, Josiah would not have given this “prophet” a hearing at all. Not now, not in a month, not in a year. But Huldah made his credentials impeccable. Huldah was authentic, and Josiah would never dare set himself against the Lord almighty or his prophetess. “My cousin, a prophet.” He shook his head, attempting disbelief.
“And did not David himself prophesy?” she argued. Her tone was urgent. “So both you and he are from a line of prophets. His message is grave, oh king.”
“So I thought,” Josiah responded in resignation. “Which means it will likely cause trouble or at least unrest. Why, then, should I see him on the steps? Why doesn’t he present himself here? He can deliver his message to me and then, if I approve, give it again before the people.”
Huldah stamped her foot and folded her arms in displeasure. She reminded Josiah of his nurse from long ago, when she upbraided him. “If you approve? Lord king, do you think you are in control? That is the Lord’s place!” Her voice rose. “His prophet stands in the courtyard and will not come in! Zephaniah demands that you come out, so that he may address you and the people at the same time!”
The king felt properly chastised. It was true; he had wanted to maintain some semblance of control. And of course, before the Lord, he had no control. He was no different from the lowliest country peasant in the eyes of the Almighty. How foolish of him. But he trembled at the thought of a possible divine retribution over Judah’s sins. They were many, and he knew it. He would rather not have known. But what then? Sit in false security, happily unaware until the flames were around his ears and it was too late to do anything about it? Why did the Lord speak? Presumably because it was not yet too late, and it was not in Josiah’s personality to be willingly ignorant. He wished for political expediency to give way to what was right, no matter what the cost. Somewhere within him, he wanted to believe he had the courage to do what was right. And if not now, when?
“Very well, woman. You are in correct, and besides, ‘the words of the Lord are water to my soul,’ sweet, even when they are bitter. I must hear them, and so, apparently, must the people.” The son of Amon rose suddenly and, despite his foreboding, walked swiftly, with Huldah following, out of the royal offices and through the wardrobe to the throne room.
The clerk, Ahikam, unobtrusive in his somber brown tunic, was still there, just finishing with the rescheduled docket. “We have need of you on the steps, my brother,” Josiah said to him. “Bring your kit and tablets.” Ahikam was Secretary Shaphan’s oldest son and had grown up with the king as his foster brother. He never imposed on this relationship, however, and quickly and obediently gathered the tools of his trade to follow the king and the prophetess through the courtroom to the steps on the front of the palace.
A royal chair was kept there, seated on the steps between the pillars, for the king’s use whenever he was so inclined. Josiah sat himself on it and Huldah stood at his right hand, proud of her sovereign, impressed by his integrity and courage. Ahikam seated himself to the left side of the king on the top step and readied his stylus and wax tablets.
Josiah eyed the grimy man standing in front of him. His salt-and-pepper beard was gray with dust from the road; the edges of the striped design of his robe were blurred with it. Zephaniah’s face was lined from long exposure to the sun, but his eyes held the same sharp intensity as Huldah’s—the same as the boy, Jeremiah’s. Josiah looked at him and did not doubt that here was a man privy to the council of the Most High. Zephaniah was not impressed by the presence of the king. He hadn’t even taken time to refresh himself from his journey. No, all that this man wished was to fulfill his commission as swiftly as possible. He answered to no man. Another king might have been insulted, but Josiah understood.
From his throne, the king glanced around his courtyard. Roughly rectangular, the area wasn’t large. He sat in the portico of the Palace of the Cedars of Lebanon. Once this palace had served as Solomon’s residence, as well as his offices. But a long-ago king had moved his personal quarters to a new palace to the southeast, so Josiah’s personal quarters were separate from the government seat. The third palace, that of Solomon’s wife, the daughter of Pharaoh, had long ago been torn down. Directly in front of the official building was the wall and bronze gate to the temple courtyard. That gate was open perforce, tilting on its broken hinges, and the people within, curious as to the goings on before the palace, were elbowing their way through it into the palace courtyard. Already, there was a sizeable crowd forming. Zephaniah looked at them and then turned his attention back to the king.
“You have demanded my presence,” Josiah rumbled. He was not used to being summoned by anyone, not even a prophet, and despite his trepidation, he was irritated. “Well, I have come. Speak then,” he ordered, noting that even the priests in the temple court had now taken note of the goings-on and were making their way to the king’s steps.
Zephaniah inclined his head politely. Then, looking at the assembly again, he paused, assessing his surroundings. He mounted all five steps to the portico so that he would be above the crowd, where all could see and hear him. He now stood directly in front of the dais—hardly the place of a petitioner. The action was so unexpected that Josiah, startled, felt his mouth fall open. He shut it quickly.
Zephaniah, on the other hand, had no thought but for the message he bore. This position was expedient, nothing more. If the Lord had demanded that he climb to the roof of the temple and address the people from there, he would have done it without hesitation—though he might have allowed himself to wonder. So to stand thus, before the king and people, at the very door of the Palace of Justice, was no great thing. It was the message that burned in his heart. The message was all, and it was the only thing that held his attention. He must deliver it and be rid of this burden. He must carry out the will of the Most High. Nothing else—nothing—mattered.
“Great king,” the man from the hills said gruffly, acknowledging Josiah. There was no hesitation or submissiveness; no apology for having ordered the king’s presence. Josiah was subject to the Almighty, and it was the Almighty that had ordered this.
Josiah had had enough contact with the Lord’s messengers. He understood and set his jaw to control both his irritation and his fear. “I am here,” he said. “Speak.”
The prophet lifted one arm and turned sideways so that he faced both the king and the people. Abruptly, he shouted, “King Josiah ben Amon, children of Abraham, hear what the Lord says!” It seemed that the stone beneath his feet trembled with the shock of the sudden power behind Zephaniah’s words. Josiah sat back suddenly at the force of it, and the courtyard fell completely still and silent. Zephaniah wasted no more time on formalities but launched into an announcement of a series of dooms that left the son of Amon speechless with terror.
“The Lord states, ‘I am going to sweep the earth clean of everything; men, animals, birds and fish!’” Zephaniah swept the ground with his right foot. “‘Mankind will be destroyed, and the wicked who are left will have only piles of rubble.’” He pointed at the people. “‘In Jerusalem and all Judah, I will destroy every last remnant of Baal, wipe out even the memory of the names of the pagan priests and idolatrous people who go to their rooftops to worship the stars of heaven and make their vows in the name of Molech. I will stretch out my hand against Judah and against all who live in Jerusalem. I will cut off from this place every remnant of Baal, the names of the pagan and the idolatrous priests—those who bow on the housetops to worship the starry host, those who bow down and swear by the Lord and who also swear by Molech but will not follow Me or put their petitions before Me …’”
The rooftop shrines were clearly visible from the top of the mount on which the palace stood. From the steps, Zephaniah could see over the wall surrounding the temple and palace complex, down into the valley where the infamous Molech stood. Even now, a priest was throwing a squalling child into the flaming belly of the monstrosity. The sight flamed Zephaniah’s outrage.
Josiah forced himself to breathe and looked to Huldah. She stood, trembling, next to the king, her head bowed. A tear escaped from her eye and ran down her cheeks. “The Lord will destroy us?” he whispered sharply at her. “He will destroy the world?”
“Eventually, yes, lord. It is certain,” she whispered back, turning her light-brown eyes to the king. He saw the beginnings of panic behind them. She was more afraid then he was! It gave him courage, of a kind.
“Eventually?” he returned under his breath. “Yet Zephaniah demanded to be heard now! So are we doomed now?”
“The idolatry, the Baals and the Molech—the Lord cannot be happy …”
Josiah pursed his lips in disapproval of her hesitation. “You are my prophetess! You should know!” He turned his attention back to his cousin. The people still stood transfixed, nailed to the spot by divine displeasure. Many glanced fearfully at the skies. The heaviness and the anger that filled the air did not proceed from Zephaniah, and all present felt it.
Zephaniah had moved on. But almost as ominous as the pronouncements against the Jews was the weaving together of the fates of the Philistines and Jews as one. The country prophet railed against the Philistines. He treated them and the Jews who worshipped the Philistine fish-god, Dagon, as one. “When that day comes, I will repay everyone who, in honor of Dagon, avoids stepping on thresholds.” The worshippers of Dagon avoided stepping on thresholds since their god had fallen before the ark of the covenant and broke off his stone head on the threshold of his temple.
“When that day comes?” Josiah questioned Huldah in a violent whisper. “When is ‘that day’?”
At a loss, Huldah shook her head, her mouth half open, her eyes wide.
Zephaniah looked to the skies and shook his fist at them, including all the starry hosts in his indictment. All were worshipped in Judah. The Lord’s patience was at an end, and judgment was at hand. The idols that were their symbols stood in the temple itself!
Then the king’s cousin turned from indictment of the gods to their people. He swept his arm from the west to the northwest and prophesied against the cities of the Sea People.9 “Gaza will be forsaken and empty and nothing will be left of Ashkelon but ruins. At the busiest time of the day, Ashdod will stand empty, and Ekron will have been pulled up by the roots! Woe to you, Sea People; the Lord has pronounced his word against you Canaan, home of the Philistines. He says, ‘I will destroy you, and none will survive.’
“The land of the Sea People will become empty except for shepherds and sheep pens. It will be given to what is left of Judah for their pastures. They will sleep in the houses of Ashkelon and the Lord will be their God. He will take care of them and bring the exiled home.”
Josiah continued to look to Huldah. He said nothing, but his glare demanded answers.
“An exile,” she breathed. “But it will not last forever. And when it is over, the Philistines and their gods will be gone.”
The prophet turned to the east and southeast and prophesied against the Moabites and Ammonites, for their taunts and refusal to help Judah. “Moab will be like Sodom and Ammon like Gomorrah, filled with seeds and salt pits to remain wastelands forever. The survivors among my people will plunder there, and they will inherit their land.”
Huldah was breathing easier now, her confidence slowly returning, though it was still a very tentative thing. Josiah drew strength from her, but exile? So at the very least, his throne was doomed.
Zephaniah turned to the south. “‘And as for you, Kushites, you too will fall by My sword.’” This was a short indictment against Egypt and an ominous one, almost as if the mighty empire was an afterthought hardly worth mentioning.10
To the north and northeast, the prophet looked beyond the temple complex and announced, “The Lord will reach out to the north and destroy Assyria, leaving it as dry and empty as the desert.” Zephaniah clenched his fist as if crushing the titan to dust. He opened his fist as if to let the debris fall to the ground. His eyes gleamed in triumph as he assured the people, “It will only be a fit habitation for animals. The proud columns of the cities will be nothing more than roosts for the desert screech owls, whose calls will echo through the rubble of empty windows, broken-down doorways, and exposed beams of cedar.” Zephaniah looked to the king and shrugged. “So much for the carefree city that lived so securely, the city which put itself as equal to I AM saying: ‘I am! Nothing else comes close to me!’”
Josiah almost laughed. It was blasphemy of course, but that was Assyria, true enough. The proud city of Nineveh probably had those words inscribed upon her gates. In the midst of all of this, Zephaniah could joke? So much for Philistia. So much for Egypt. So much for Assyria. Dust under the foot of the Almighty. But so much for Josiah’s throne as well.
The people were no longer silent. Josiah could see that the priests of the Lord were angry, and some had actually turned to the north and were raising their fists against the menace. A murmur of unrest was growing among the people, and the pagan priests had become conspicuously absent.
Zephaniah’s voice began to take on a cadence, its clarity clearly heard above the rising disturbance. “So now it is a ruin, a den for wild animals, and all who go by sneer and shake their fists in defiance.” Some of the people were shouting now. Assyria had dared to pit itself against their God!
And now, finally, Zephaniah turned to the king and lifted his voice in song. But the song he sang was once again against his own people. “Woe also to this city, filled with oppressors, the rebellious and the defiled! She refuses to obey anyone and will not be corrected. She will not trust the Lord or approach her God in prayer.” He denounced the officials, the prophets, the priests, and the people themselves. All were corrupt, devouring one another for their own advantage and advancement, and none cared for the Lord and His righteousness.
In dismay, the people quieted and forgot about Assyria’s trespasses when compared to their own.
Josiah frowned and whispered at Huldah, “How can he promise judgment upon the entire world and mercy to us at the same time? How can everything be destroyed and the Lord still have mercy on us? What is this riddle?”
Zephaniah’s song continued. “‘So the whole world is condemned and will be burned up in My jealous anger! That done, I will take those left of all the peoples and sanctify their lips, so that they will all call only on the name of the Lord. The whole world will serve Me, side by side.’”
Huldah’s forehead was screwed up in deep thought. “My king,” she said, “the Lord does not look at all events as one after the other, as we must. To Him, they occur altogether. So some of this will happen soon, but some … who knows? But Abraham was willing to sacrifice Isaac, while yet believing that it was by Isaac that the Lord would give him descendants. And here we are. Nothing is impossible for Him, not even destroying the world and then recreating it.”
“Is that what he means?”
“I don’t know. Do you not trust Him?”
Do you fear Him? The words of the child prophet echoed in the king’s mind. He avoided Huldah’s question as he had Jeremiah’s. “I am king over a people whose hearts wander continually. Of course I am afraid for them.”
Either Zephaniah or the Lord of heaven heard the king. The prophet paused and looked directly at Josiah. “Sing, O daughter of Zion, shout O Israel! Be glad and rejoice with all your heart O daughter of Jerusalem!” His triumphant song resonated in the peoples’ hearts, and they began to lift their heads from their shame and look with hope, not fear, to the heavens. Josiah was transfixed. “The Lord your God is in your midst and is mighty! He will save you and rejoice over you with joy! His love will make His judgment stop, and He will rejoice over you with singing!”
Zephaniah promised the king that finally the people would learn and do no more wrong. And the Lord would rescue them and bring them back from captivity. “‘Having dealt with the oppressors, I will save the cripple and gather up the exiles from where they have been scattered, giving them praise and honor in the lands where they knew shame. I will bring them home!’”11
The song ended, and the people lifted up their voices and cheered. But Josiah sat there. Bring them home? What about him? What about his throne? Would he die in exile then?
The king stood and was about to address the prophet, but Zephaniah had other ideas. With his message delivered, the kinsman of the king, now just a citizen once more, bowed low and departed without another word, leaving the dumfounded monarch behind him. The crowd parted for him in awe, not quite daring to touch the messenger of God as he passed or follow as he left the court. So Zephaniah departed Jerusalem and never came there again.
Josiah stared after the back of his departing cousin, his thoughts in turmoil, until he noticed a tall, thin figure separating from the crowd and climbing the steps before him. It was Hilkiah, the chief priest.
Hilkiah was dressed in a cream-colored robe with a brown sash tied as a belt. He looked no different from any other of the Levites, but he still held his office’s authority. He was responsible for all things regarding the faith, and this certainly qualified as one of those things. His green-brown eyes were troubled and held a million questions, and his stance was uncertain. Hilkiah was relatively young for his position, only in his forties, although he had held the post only a short time. He was inexperienced, and he knew it. “Lord king, a word?” he asked.
“A conference, rather,” Josiah answered him. “In my offices, but wait a moment.” He turned to the clerk, Ahikam. The scribe was still seated on the top step, busily scratching on his wax tablets. His concentration was absolute. “Have you recorded all of that?”
“Almost finished,” Ahikam answered without looking up. With a flourish, he scribbled the last letter. “There. Every word, my king.”
“Then bring it to my offices and inform your father he is to meet us there. Hilkiah, Huldah, you will come as well.”
“Of course, lord king,” they answered and fell in behind him. Ahikam rose and moved to inform his father, Shaphan, the king’s secretary, of the meeting.
The king and his entourage retired to his offices in the Palace of the Cedars of Lebanon, leaving the people milling around in the courtyard, discussing the meaning of what they had just heard.
Josiah’s offices were comfortable enough. A bronze firepot warmed them. The carpets and hangings on the walls, of muted tans and browns, were conducive to work, and the smooth, deep red-brown of the rectangular conference table allowed the king to work side by side with his officials. Secretary Shaphan hurried into the room directly behind the king, the priest, and the prophetess. The scribe, Ahikam, followed his father and the royal guard, took up their positions directly outside the only door.
The king settled himself on one side of the table and banished his trepidation. It had no place in this meeting. They were here to decide what was required of them and nothing else, so Josiah resolutely determined to look only to his immediate actions, whatever the future held. He relaxed and removed his crown, setting it on the table. “Please, sit,” he said to the group as he massaged his temples. The others sat, having taken a cue from the king’s unperturbed attitude, as well as his invitation. Shaphan sat on his right, Ahikam on his left, and Hilkiah and Huldah directly across from him.
Josiah visually examined them all carefully as he gathered his thoughts. They sat quietly, expectantly, waiting on his pleasure.
The king turned to Shaphan. “You have been advised as to the events of the day?”
“Yes, lord. My son has so apprised me.” Shaphan nodded at Ahikam.
“That is well.” Josiah nodded.
Asahiah, Josiah’s personal servant, entered quickly and served them all wine, bread, cheese, a plate of cold meats, and grapes and figs. It was an impromptu meal, but Asahiah, a quiet man in his mid-forties, had served Josiah since he was crowned and was used to his moods and habits. With his ministrations finished, the servant bowed quickly and left.
Josiah lifted his cup to his lips and sipped the wine, his eyes focused on midair. The others did not move or speak, as yet unsure as to the direction the meeting would take. The interlude gave the king time to think. Finally, he said, “We are here to decide what we must do with the words of Zephaniah. We must decide whether or not they are indeed from the Lord of heaven. If so—”
“They are of the Lord,” Huldah interrupted, allowing none to gainsay her authority.
“It takes two witnesses,” Shaphan, as king’s secretary and legal counsel, pointed out.
“That is why we are here,” Josiah repeated. “Ahikam, you were recorder. Read the scroll that contains the words of Zephaniah ben Cushi so we may debate their meaning.”
Ahikam, son of Shaphan, took the vellum scroll he had transcribed from the tablets and read it, mimicking Zephaniah right down to the chant and the song. Ahikam was exemplary in his profession. The words, though often interrupted and intently discussed, lost none of their force. As he ended, a terse silence fell over the group. They eyed each other as they waited for someone to speak. No one had yet touched his food; only the king had drunk.
Finally, Huldah nodded, her face resolute. “Of the Lord.”
The king and his secretaries turned to the chief priest. Hilkiah took a deep breath. The fate of a nation rested on his shoulders. He was a man of faith, and he knew that he must remain faithful. He was responsible for representing the people to the Lord but also the Lord to the people. The words seemed … powerful beyond belief. From heaven. But was he sure? If not, he must reject the prophet. Then what? Josiah would probably have Zephaniah stoned. And if it turned out that he was a prophet after all, and he had been mistaken? It was unthinkable. Hilkiah was the chief priest; he must give the correct answer. “I must seek the Lord,” he answered them, rising from his seat. “Allow me time, my king. You will have my answer before the new day.”
“Granted,” Josiah responded. He too wanted time to think and seek his God. “We will reconvene at the new day.” The meeting was adjourned, and they filed quietly and subdued from the chambers, the meal still untouched. Josiah sat there long, thinking. Then, he turned his attention to the food the others had neglected.
Evening fell, marking the start of the new day, and the chief priest hurried from the temple to meet with the king, his prophetess, and his secretaries in the king’s chambers once more. The others were already present when Hilkiah entered. The table was laid with a more reasoned meal, but again, no one seemed to notice. The priest walked to the table but did not sit. Whatever the king did—whatever happened next—was his responsibility. He trembled slightly but hoped they didn’t notice.
“Well?” Josiah asked shortly.
“Of the Lord,” the chief priest affirmed.
“Two witnesses—the prophetess Huldah and the chief priest Hilkiah. Zephaniah’s words are acknowledged,” the king said. Since they had met that afternoon, he had had time to compose himself and was now all business. Somewhere in the back of his mind was the knowledge of exile, but it had no immediate impact, so he refused to acknowledge it.
The clerk, Ahikam, quickly scribbled the verdict on his tablet.
“What remains, then, is for us to decide what action must be taken. Sit.” The king motioned to the priest, who seated himself on the bench at the table. “So what do we do?” He looked pointedly at his chief advisor, his former regent, Shaphan.
“Ah, lord king,” Shaphan said carefully, “what can we do? The Assyrians …”
“The Lord is more to be feared than they,” Huldah interjected, incensed.
“She is correct,” the king acknowledged, soothing her. “Whom would we rather offend? Nineveh or heaven?” He said it simply, logically. Do you fear Him? He banished the boy’s voice from his head, and no trace of the thought could be read on his face. He had had all day to determine his course and only sat in council now to make it official. Deliberately, he reached out and took a delicately sliced cut of meat. He popped it in his mouth and chewed. No one would ever have guessed that he was still quaking in his soul. This was to be the most important act of his life, and he sat composed and judicious, reasonable. He had been king since he was eight years old and knew self-control. Josiah had learned his lessons well.
Shaphan nodded his acceptance of the king’s rebuke. “What is my lord’s will? But caution is always a wise course.”
Josiah shook his head. “Caution?” Suddenly, he exploded. “No! The Lord demands we cleanse the land of idolatry! But you are right. Assyria is mighty. Zephaniah tells us Assyria is doomed, but today she is still capable of swatting us easier than a man swats a fly. So may the Lord of heaven protect us, because today, we are going to listen! Today, we throw ourselves on His mercy!” He turned to the tall priest, and his voice was the voice of reason once more. “Hilkiah, what must we do? Where do we start?”
For Hilkiah, there had never been an easier question to answer. “Lord king, every day I minister in a court and temple filled with idolatry. Foreign priests to all the hosts of heaven march through the temple courts with impunity.” He spoke with passion. “If you wish to stave off disaster, then we must let folly be our wisdom. Their gods are wood, stone, and metal. Our God lives and is able! He is our only hope! But for Him to be for us, He must dwell with us. Lord king, His house is a disgrace! Your father and grandfather have installed idols, pillars, and altars in the temple itself, as well as in the court. The walls of the court and of the temple crumble; the gates are broken down. And …” The priest was unsure of himself, but now that he had started, he would not hold back. He swallowed nervously and then said, “And if this is to be once again the Lord’s holy hill, then it cannot be defiled by … by …”
“By what?” The son of Amon had no time for delicacy here.
“By graves, your majesty,” the priest finished, almost timidly.
Shaphan gasped, and even Ahikam looked up, shocked, from his work.
For a moment, Josiah didn’t know what to say. Then, despite himself, he chuckled. “My father’s and grandfather’s graves, you mean.” They were buried in the palace court, completely against tradition and apparently against the Lord’s holiness.
“Yes, lord.”
Josiah nodded firmly, if grimly. “Never again shall they be haughty on My holy hill. I did not consider that meaning. If anyone was haughty here, they were—and daring. To have themselves buried here was indeed the ultimate act of hubris. So if anyone deserves exile, they do. Very well. I will order them moved to the royal cemetery with the rest of my ancestors.
“As to the temple and its court, it is entirely possible that we are about to spell our own doom, but as Zephaniah has said, we are doomed anyway. We will trust in God, and we will start with His house. Now! Tonight!” He stood abruptly. “Ahikam! Record my command for my officers. This day sees the end of idolatry in Judah!”
The scribe had barely glanced up from his work since the meeting began. His eyes remained focused on his work, and his hands busily transcribed the proceedings. His brow furrowed in concentration, but he nodded briefly in acknowledgement.
The king strode from the room, followed by the council. His step was determined, and his royal robes swished around his ankles. Purpose showed in his every movement.
Ahikam jumped to his feet and looked to his father, confused as he hurried after the king. “What now?” he whispered. The tapestries on the walls in the hall flashed by them in their haste.
Shaphan felt a cold shiver of trepidation run up his spine, but he merely shook his head at his son and walked quickly to maintain his place at the king’s right hand.
Last came the priest and the prophetess. Both seemed tense with anticipation as they exchanged glances. Josiah would act! This was a king worthy of his father, David. What happened now was of the Lord, and they knew it. But still, they too were afraid.
Josiah arrived in front of his chair on the palace steps as the sun slipped below the horizon, marking the new day. The sky glowed red and purple on the king and the people who were beginning to make their way home for their evening meals. Their daily schedule was about to be interrupted.
Josiah did not sit. He stood before his throne and ordered the trumpets to be sounded. The shofars of the two trumpeters, who always stood ready on the palace steps, resounded long and deep, echoing through the palace courtyard and down into the city. The startled crowd turned their attention toward their king. The palace and temple guard, alert to the summons, assumed they were under attack and rushed to the front of the palace. Many of the inhabitants of the city, already in their homes, left their dinners and chores and hurried to the palace court to see what disaster was about to befall them.
The king watched the people gather in haste and alarm. They should be alarmed, he thought. There was about to be an attack, and he was about to lead it. As Shaphan arrived beside him, and Ahikam sank to the steps and readied the tools of his trade to record, the king addressed his subjects. “Hear O Israel! The words of Zephaniah, prophet of the Lord have been confirmed! ‘In Jerusalem and all Judah, I will destroy every last remnant of Baal, wipe out even the memory of the names of the pagan priests and idolatrous people who go to their rooftops to worship the stars of heaven, and make their vows in the name of Molech.’ These words, you heard in the morning. This evening, the new day, you will see them fulfilled. You have heard, ‘Never again will you be haughty on My holy hill!’ So whom do you fear? Assyria? Egypt? Your neighbors? Their gods? I fear the Lord!” Do you fear Him? Josiah laughed. Finally, he could answer that question! “I fear the Lord, and I am king! Follow me!”
The crowd roared as the king abruptly beckoned to the palace guard to fall in behind. Huldah and Hilkiah watched as the king, now surrounded by his guard, strode rapidly and deliberately through the crowd. The people parted with alacrity, more frightened by the look on their monarch’s face than by the message they had just heard, and still, they turned and followed him. Heading north, the king went right through the broken gate to the temple grounds, with his men and his people in his wake.
The temple guard stood aside in confusion. The son of Amon was king, but the palace guard had no place here, so what were they to do? None of them wanted to challenge Josiah, though, so they stood back. Then the chief priest, Hilkiah, arrived. “What are you standing there for?” he snapped. “This is the work of the Lord, and you are his servants! Fulfill your office!” The chief priest’s arm swept by them and pointed to the king, the palace guard, and the people now swarming behind and around their sovereign. The palace guard grabbed their spears and swords from against the wall and ran after the crowd.
The king stopped in front of the horned altar. Where to start? The two pagan altars were right there, but … Directly across the courtyard, on the other side of the temple steps, stood a small shrine, a temple to foreign gods. And behind it, led west as the sun set …
“The horses of Shamash!” Josiah yelled to his men at the top of his voice. “Seize them!” The twelve white stallions, decked in gold and harnessed to their six gilded chariots, were being led toward the sunset, to their stables behind the temple, just as they were led every evening since the shrine and their forbearers had been installed there by Josiah’s ancestors as a tribute to Assyria. The chariots, however, were not entirely authentic. They were of the smaller, Egyptian types, commonly seen in Judah, and were both shorter and lighter than their Assyrian counterparts.
The palace guard overwhelmed the handlers and the horses of the sun were quickly unhitched. Plunging, rearing, and kicking in panic at the growing chaos surrounding them, their golden painted hooves narrowly missed striking their new handlers as they were led away toward the palace with their golden trimmings and tassels trailing behind them.
Several of the temple guard, priests of the Lord themselves, arrived too late to help but had trouble hiding their grins. Then one of them turned and put his shoulder to the altar of Baal and Asherah of Canaan. Five more joined him, and the altar toppled. While they were hacking at it with their swords, their fellows turned to the altar of Dagon and Ashtoreth of Philistia.
Most of the people had pushed back into the temple court, and many were shouting their approval, but their shouts were interspersed with panicked cries. “Lord king, this is an insult to Assyria! What have you done to us?”
“Whom do you fear?” Josiah yelled back at them and then repeated his earlier declaration. “I fear the Lord!” The crowd roared in response, some in anger but most in delight. The king grabbed one of his men’s swords and turned to the chariots that had been left abandoned in the courtyard. With a wild war cry, he began hacking and smashing the vehicles.
Hilkiah, chief priest of the Lord, had seen enough. With a shout—“The Lord! Th

Order Now!

<< Go Back